


Hanging on the Telephone

by Hunter (thehunter)



Series: Strangelove [2]
Category: Eroica Yori Ai o Komete | From Eroica with Love
Genre: Homophobic Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 04:10:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehunter/pseuds/Hunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Your voice across the line gives me a strange sensation." (Blondie, "Hanging on the Telephone")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hanging on the Telephone

The telephone was staring at him.  
  
Klaus knew that this was utterly preposterous. The phone was an inanimate object and possessed neither eyes nor a will of its own. It was impossible.  
  
Nevertheless it sat there, all shiny and black and utilitarian, and watched him expectantly. He could feel it as a sort of tingling on the back of his neck whenever he looked away. For a moment, he indulged himself with the thought of boxing the damned thing up and mailing it to Alaska—but its absence would only upset and confuse the poor butler, and Klaus already had enough problems on his hands.  
  
He glared at the phone, which continued to sit there implacably instead of crumbling to dust as might have been expected. Sooner or later, one of them would have to give.  
  
As it turned out, it was Klaus. He picked up the receiver grudgingly and noted the obvious smugness of the appliance as he began to work the rotary dial. It would pay for that later.  
  
The Chief was to blame for this state of affairs. The ignorant lump had called his subordinate at home, at an hour when any sane person would have been sound asleep (Klaus had been on his 59th sit-up).  
  
"Did I wake you?" he'd asked, sounding gleeful.  
  
"No," Klaus replied shortly.  
  
The Chief was clearly disappointed. "I have a task for you, von dem Eberbach. Lindemann is heading up an operation in London—nothing terribly complicated, but the target's taken some interesting security measures and it could get rather dicey if they're not handled properly. Most of his men are pretty raw, so he's looking to bring in an outside consultant and—"  
  
The Major could tell where this was going and opened his mouth in preparation for a loud and emphatic refusal. Unfortunately, his superior anticipated him.  
  
"Look, no one's asking _you_ to work with him this time! We just want you to call him and persuade him to accept the job. He'll listen to you; he—" At this point, the Chief thought better of whatever he'd meant to say and found himself momentarily fishing for words. "Just call him, Major," he finished lamely. "That's an order." And he hung up before any further protest could be launched.  
  
Now, dialing the phone, Klaus could think of at least a dozen things he ought to have said to the old bastard, but it was too late for that. A sleepy Bonham was already answering the phone and he was mechanically asking for Lord Gloria. And the telephone looked more smug than ever.  
  
"D'you have any idea what time it is?" Bonham grumbled, his tiredness apparently making him less fearful of the Major's wrath. "I'm not getting Lord Gloria out of bed for _you_! He'll be all out of sorts in the morning."  
  
"Technically, it is morning," Klaus noted, cutting him off, "and I doubt he's been to bed yet. If he's out after another faggoty sculpture or something, just say so."  
  
Bonham spluttered and was probably about to say something extremely unwise when a smooth, cultured voice interrupted, asking who on earth was calling at that hour. Eroica. The pleased little noise he made on being told who it was caused a warm twinge in Klaus's belly, and he started grumbling about being kept waiting, to give himself something else to think about.  
  
"Just a moment, Major; I'm going to take this on my bedroom extension." Eroica sounded slightly breathless.  
  
"Idiot! I don't want to talk to you while—" But it was too late; the thief had already gone. _Just fucking great._ To occupy himself, Klaus began a mental review of the technical specifications of his long-lost Leopard tank. _This ought to get me in proper shouting form by the time he picks up._  
  
Truth be told, what Klaus was hoping for was a distraction. It had been rather a long time since he had last spoken to the thief and he didn't like what he'd felt on hearing the other man's voice.  
  
A moment later, Klaus heard the click of Bonham replacing the receiver as Eroica picked up his bedside telephone. "You know it's always lovely to hear from you, Major," the earl began, "but why on earth are you calling so late at night? I don't think I've stolen anything you'd be interested in—it's all been Italian Renaissance material lately, decadent and perfectly frivolous."  
  
Klaus immediately quashed the rogue thought that Eroica's teasing tone was rather sexy. With his typical directness combined with a desire to get the call over with, Klaus uncharacteristically ignored the bait. "Nothing you do ever interests me, thief, as long as you stay out of my way. Actually, I'm calling on behalf of someone else."  
  
The Major's remark stung, but didn't really faze Eroica. It was tame compared to the sort of thing he usually had to say! But the job the Major was explaining to him, some small and relatively uncomplicated task for another officer—that hurt. Dorian wasn't a NATO man; he'd only actually been hired once. The other missions in which he'd helped or hindered had been the result of chance...or, as was often the case of late, clever engineering of his own travel plans to coincide with those of the Major and his Alphabet. Still, Dorian had come to think of them as a team, in a way (though he could never say that to the other man!), and he didn't fancy the idea of going off to work for someone else. It might give people ideas. Eroica and his gang were always available should "Uncle NATO" require their aid, but they were not prepared to extend their services to anyone else at the agency. And the idea that the Major would expect them to...!  
  
Klaus was still explaining the logistics of the mission when Dorian interrupted. "Sorry, Major, you'll have to find someone else. We're not interested."  
  
"What do you mean, you're not interested?" came the loudly incredulous reply. "NATO would owe you another favor, the pay is good, and—"  
  
"But, darling—"  
  
"Don't call me that!"  
  
"Darling, you should know I won't work for anyone but you."  
  
Klaus's irritation with the pet name had a little to do with the implied familiarity and a lot to do with the effect it had on him. Not even the purloined catsuit was doing much for him anymore, but god, Eroica's voice over the phone... It was deeply disturbing to him that just a simple conversation could get him half-hard in a matter of minutes.  
  
Mentally threatening to send himself to Alaska didn't have quite the bracing effect of a cold shower, but it would do for the time being. "That is one of the most ridiculous things I have ever heard," he growled. "You worked for me _once_. You got in my way and fucked up my missions countless times when I told you to stay away—but you just can't keep your big limey nose out of NATO's affairs."  
  
Eroica felt it a shame that Klaus could not see how beautifully he was pouting over the slight to his appearance. "No, darling, I can't keep my attractive and well-proportioned nose out of _your_ affairs. Because I—" Like the Chief, he abruptly thought better of the remark he'd been about to make. "Well. You know."  
  
Klaus had found his cock stirring again at the earl's second use of the pet name, and when Eroica floundered, he discovered that his cotton pajama bottoms had become uncomfortably tight. He grinned sadistically—the same grin that had often preceded a brawl with enemy agents or the interrogation of a particularly uncooperative suspect—and threw caution to the wind. "You what?"  
  
He wasn't hanging up. Why wasn't he hanging up? Dorian was so confused. _It has to be a trap_ , he thought. _If I say it, he's going to do something horrible._ It occurred to him that there wasn't much the Major could do over the phone, other than yell, but he wasn't taking any chances.  
  
"You don't really want me to say it, Major." The earl's discomfort was nearly palpable, and Klaus...Klaus was loving it.  
  
How many times had Eroica made him uncomfortable, disgusted, frozen in near panic? Was it wrong to take proper revenge just once? Klaus didn't think so. And for once, he and his body were in total agreement—this felt wonderful. He'd been wearing his pajama bottoms and ubiquitous undershirt to exercise; now Klaus half-consciously began touching himself through the thin fabric. " _What_ don't I want you to say, Eroica?" he asked, smirking.  
  
There was silence on the line for a moment, as Eroica warily gathered himself. This wasn't right at all! He was supposed to be in control, to catch the Major off-guard and flirt shamelessly on his own terms! For Klaus to take the offensive in this game was absolutely unheard of. The Major wasn't flirting; Eroica was sure of that. But what the hell was he doing? There seemed to be no other way to learn than to call his bluff. "I love you, Major," he said as calmly as he could.  
  
A casual acquaintance of the earl's would have missed the slight catch in his throat. Klaus did not, and he relished the knowledge that he'd caused it, that he was putting Eroica out of countenance for once instead of the reverse. Klaus reached inside the waistband of his pants, then reconsidered and decided to abandon them altogether, pulling them off and folding them on the bed, a little less carefully than usual.  
  
"You love me. Right," he snorted. "That's why you're in my way all the damned time, showing up whenever my men and I are in the middle of something important and fucking it up!" With one hand inside his boxers, he sat back, picturing Eroica growing distraught, sprawled on an enormous bed hung with ridiculous frilly draperies as he listened to him on the telephone. "You just can't leave me alone, can you? No, you've got to butt in on my missions and try to sabotage my career..." Never mind that there wasn't much to sabotage, with the amount of time he'd spent as a major already!  
  
Dorian—who was puzzled, but not distraught—sat cross-legged in the middle of his narrow, drapery-free bed (which admittedly did contain an awful lot of throw pillows), trying to formulate some response that was neither inane nor likely to provoke yelling. Perhaps something like his usual banter would help him regain some ground. "I would never deliberately hurt your career, Major; you must know that! It's just that I can't resist an opportunity to help the man I love. Is it really my fault that things don't always go according to plan? Wait, don't answer that..."  
  
"Of course it's your fault, idiot! You and those incompetent men of yours—"  
  
Eroica cut him off sharply, his voice uncharacteristically cold. "I'll thank you to leave my team out of this, Major. They may not have the level of training that your Alphabets do, but they are extremely competent in our area of expertise."  
  
Ah! That had hit a nerve. Klaus smiled smugly and brushed his thumb over the head of his cock, teasing himself. Now that he thought about it, he realized he'd always rather admired the thief when he was angry, though he'd never admitted it to himself before. The first time he'd really seen it had been on that train, when Eroica had slapped Mischa in retaliation for a truly unforgivable insult against Klaus. For once, he'd seemed to Klaus to be something more than a shallow, interfering pervert. It shouldn't have been possible for him to seem down to earth and unearthly at once, but Eroica had achieved it then, and on the other, unfortunately few, occasions that Klaus had witnessed his righteous anger. Now, beginning to stroke himself rhythmically, he wondered if he could again elicit such an emotion from the earl, and whether it would be quite so captivating over the phone.  
  
"Competent—ha! Most of your pretty boys can't keep a thought in their heads for more than a few seconds before they lose it when they're distracted by something shiny. Speaking of which, let's not forget the Stingy Bug; he'd sell you out in a minute if the price were right, and I'm sure he's not the only one."  
  
Dorian spluttered. "How _dare_ you? You have no idea what my men will do—have done for me! I couldn't ask for a more loyal team." _And what would lead you to question that, I can't possibly imagine...something is severely not right with you tonight, Major._ With venomous afterthought, he added, "After all, they put up with you for my sake, and none of them has left me yet!"  
  
Klaus's hand was moving faster now, slicked with spit and the fluid now leaking steadily from his dick. _Nearly there..._ A less disciplined man would have been moaning into the receiver by now, betraying and embarrassing himself. Not Iron Klaus. With great effort, he had managed to suppress the noises constantly threatening to escape his lips, and even to quiet his breathing. If his voice was a little rougher than usual when he spoke, that could always be attributed to his cigarette habit. He was perversely pleased with himself. _And now_ , he thought, _we see just how much the faggot will take._  
  
"I don't think," Klaus drawled, "that that has as much to do with loyalty as it does with your buggering them senseless whenever they start to act mutinous." He squeezed his eyes shut and grinned wider—he could just imagine the look of outrage on Eroica's face. But it wasn't quite enough.  
  
The phone was cradled between his cheek and shoulder now, his left hand coming to his mouth, sliding the index finger between his lips as he listened to the appalled silence on the other end of the line. The finger was released, spit-slick, as the earl spoke with quiet, dignified rage.  
  
"I don't know what the fuck is wrong with you, Major, but I'm going to be charitable and assume that you're just drunk."  
  
Klaus shifted in his chair, reaching his left hand down and around, hardly conscious of what he was doing, or of anything other than that voice.  
  
"Whatever the case, I refuse to take this sort of abuse from anyone—even you."  
  
Barely hanging on now, Klaus slid the single spit-slick digit into his asshole.  
  
And Eroica slammed down the receiver.  
  
Klaus _was_ moaning now, in the throes of the hardest orgasm he'd ever experienced. It almost hurt. Even the semblance of control escaped him as he grunted, arched his back, and, at the end, breathed "Eroica" into the now-buzzing receiver.  
  
It was the irritating noise of the telephone that brought Klaus back to himself after a couple of minutes. He was at once aware of feeling both as satiated and as disgusted as he had felt in a long time. His left hand was still pinned under his ass and he couldn't even bear to think about that as he extricated it. His boxers had somehow ended up around his ankles and were almost assuredly ruined, and he was desperately in need of a shower. The Major stood, kicked his boxers away, and hung up the telephone, glaring at it balefully. Only a couple of hours remained before he would have to get up for work, and there was considerable cleaning-up to do before he could even think of going to bed.  
  
Moving toward the bathroom to start, Klaus was arrested by the sudden ringing of that infernal phone. He spun on his heel, marched rapidly over to rip the extension out of the wall, and flung the damned thing through the window without a second thought. A moment later he was scrubbing furiously under a cold shower, pretending nothing at all had happened.  
  
Several hundred miles away, Dorian hung up his telephone with a sigh. Perhaps the Major _was_ drunk. He turned off the light and rolled over in bed, hoping that a few hours' sleep would somehow help it all make sense. 


End file.
